


The Freeman

by atlas_white



Category: Half-Life
Genre: F/M, Freemance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_white/pseuds/atlas_white
Summary: He wasThe One Free Man.It was a phrase that meant so many things to so many people, but neither Gordon nor Alyx knew what it meant to them. He was meant to protect the world, and she was meant to protect him. He was a legend come to life, and she knew that better than anyone. Yet he was also human, and so was she.Freemance. Multiple stories on a theme.





	1. Messiah

 

_"The One Free Man."_

How many times had Gordon heard that title, whispered fearfully in dark spaces and shouted like an oath from crumbling rooftops? It was spoken in so many tones, by so many voices, but always with unequivocal force, with meaning, as if the words themselves held a kind of power. It was a power as old as the Earth itself, forbidden to mankind ever since the Seven Hour War.

The words followed him, they marked him, they set a fire in his path that could be seen from other worlds. He was a man out of time, he was the hand that humanity believed would strike down the Combine. The words meant this and more, they meant everything. They meant hope, the future, the freedom of all who would hear their echoes.

Gordon was the face to these words, and the beat of his heart was the rhythm of their chant. He was greater than any one person, the messiah that his entire species had awaited all these long years. His fight for survival had made him a hero long before he had ever known of the struggles of his people.

He was not his own; he was the words which met him at every outpost as he traveled through underground tunnels and secret passageways carved by desperate survivors, the task which they had set for him. He was _The One Free Man_ above all things.

It was the hot blood that trailed down his face as he gritted his teeth and fought on. It was the sound of gunfire so loud that he could have heard it unaided. It was the roar, the heat, the pain that he could barely feel, standing his ground as though he had been fixed permanently to it. 

Down went his enemies, the enemies of humanity, and he scant noticed until it dawned on him that there were no more weapons being fired. It was another battle won, silent and without fanfare. He did not feel accomplished for it. 

He would walk away from this, as he had walked away from so many battles already, to march onward with the echoes in his mind of that phrase that followed him wherever he went, a greeting, a blessing, a plead for his help. 

_"The One Free Man."_

Gordon would strive with every fibre of his being to embody it, to live it with every cell of him, whom those words spoke of _._

It was not merely what he was, it was _who_ he was. It was his every breath, coming hard and fast with the adrenaline of combat and struggle. It was the sweat on his brow, the finger on the trigger even still. But it was also the man who fought and bled, the man who was beginning to tire now in spite of himself. It was the pain that was beginning to seep in despite the efforts of the HEV Suit to protect and soothe.

He was faltering in his steps, but he was still walking. For this was what humanity needed of him, and so this was what he would be.

 


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx has a moment to think about what The One Free Man means to her.

He was the strongest man Alyx knew, the strongest man she was sure had ever lived. It was no wonder people could follow him so easily, gathering in the warmth of his guiding light and giving him all they had if only he had need of it. His name was their battle-cry, his cause was theirs. 

He was so much to so many people, but to none of them could he possibly mean the same as he meant to her.

He was lying on a filthy old mattress devoid of any proper bedding, with only Alyx's jacket draped over him for a blanket, and his arm folded under his head to serve as a pillow. Yet, he'd fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd lain down, he was so exhausted. How heavy the weight of the world must be.

Alyx leaned forward, arms on her knees as she watched him sleep from an old wooden chair near his makeshift bed. She kept a silent vigil, his self-appointed guardian.

Well, perhaps 'self-appointed' was a bit too generous. After all, had she not been prepared her whole life to one day fight by his side? She had been told stories about him in youth, and as she had grown she'd been reminded again and again that one day he would return. He was like a legend come to life, a folktale hero made flesh. She had always known that one day they would stand side by side, no matter how improbable it may have seemed. 

It was incredible, in a way, to think that the same man she had heard about for so long was here in front of her. She had never quite made the connection in all the time they'd been fighting, struggling, living moment to moment. His arrival had been sudden, and everything since then had been ceaseless motion. There had been little time for contemplation, even when they had managed to snag rare moments of rest.

Here was the man that had starred in the stories that had given her and those she knew hope, that had grounded them and made them believe that there was a future for humanity in spite of all that it had suffered. Here, sleeping under her watchful eye, was _The One Free Man._

Alyx wanted to see to it that Gordon was well-rested when he woke up. He had completely exhausted himself, and despite the HEV Suit's protection, he did yet have wounds that needed tending. She'd had to clean and tend them, and now he needed all the rest he could get.

After all, in spite of everything, he was still _human._

It almost seemed like he wasn't, at times. Being a legend come to life made him larger than life, and he was constantly proving himself worthy of the belief people had in him as he fought his way across a hostile coast, through Nova Prospekt, through Hell itself not only to do what he had been tasked with, but to rescue _Alyx's father._

She still could barely believe how much he had done for her and her father. She would be remiss to voice it, but that meant more to her even than what he was doing for the Resistance, for regardless of his mission, he was under no obligation at all to risk life and limb for the sake of one scientist. This was not to downplay what he had done for their movement, but that was as personal as it got, and it had touched her deeply. That act alone would be enough to earn her loyalty for as long as she would live.

Besides that, Alyx couldn't pretend she hadn't seen the hesitation on Gordon's face when she had been captured herself, and Breen had offered him a deal for her. The memory was fresh, and almost too painful to recall. She had just known he was considering it, lowering himself before that maggot for her sake. Taking such a massive risk for a single person was one thing, but throwing it all out the window?

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. That was over and done with, mistakes already made, and Breen was gone for good, never again to do them harm. To dwell on it would only frustrate her, and there was far too much to be excited about and fearful of now.

Alyx opened her eyes again, and found herself back in the present, still in her wooden chair, with Gordon still asleep in front of her. 

He looked very different. He did not have on his glasses or the HEV Suit (the latter had taken a lot of coaxing, but she'd needed to take care of his injuries, however minor they may be, and besides, it could not be comfortable sleeping in that thing). He looked much more like an ordinary person without them, as if the complete package was necessary to make him into Gordon Freeman.

Or maybe it was more accurate to say they were needed to make him _"The One Free Man."_ Maybe it was more accurate to say that without them, it felt like he _was_ Gordon Freeman. A person with his own thoughts and feelings, with so much more to him than the stories told. He was someone with a kind heart and a bright sense of humour, someone who had made mistakes of his own at some point, and who had things he liked and things he disliked. He was a fully realized person. He was Alyx's dearest friend. 

She moved from the chair to the floor, easing herself carefully from sitting in her seat into a crouching position next to the mattress. From here, she could be closer to him, and see more clearly the features of his sleeping face.

He was rather handsome, she thought. He had features that were angular but not sharp, which looked striking, and his facial hair suited him well. His lips were barely parted, and his eyes were moving behind closed lids in dream. Alyx wondered what he dreamed about. 

She wasn't sure she'd known what to expect before she'd met him. Photographs in the private sector were very rare since Earth had been annexed, although some of Gordon had been recovered and kept safe all these years by Resistance members. It was from these few images, and from the occasional graffiti, that she had known already what he had looked like, but those were not the same as the real thing. They didn't do him justice, she thought.

It was only right that he should be greater than images could show, even those painted secretly in reverence (which she'd spent so much time in contemplation of). Alyx wondered what he would think if he saw those pieces. Would he feel proud, or humbled? Honoured, or distraught? She was sure she already knew the answer.

She did not know him as she had known him before his return anymore.

He was no longer the words spoken in hushed tones, the stories that the Resistance members told each other at night or the episodes recounted with a chuckle by her father, Dr. Kleiner, or Barney. He was more than memory, more than _legend._

Carefully, Alyx dared to reach out and smooth his hair with her fingers. He stirred only slightly, and from the slight movement of his lips she was sure that she heard the whisper of her own name, making her heart swell.

Soon, she would need to wake him. That could wait a little longer, though. She would give him all the time she could, never leaving his side, standing guard until it was time for them to move out and travel once more. 

For now, she would wait for him, just as she had waited for him her whole life.


	3. Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years earlier, Alyx found a portrait, and showed it to Barney.

Alyx tilted her head slightly as she took in the image before her. She recognized the figure in it as Gordon Freeman, although she had never before seen him in person. His was a face seen in old, worn photos, and images like this one. His symbol— the symbol of a sector of the Black Mesa Research Facility which he'd worn on his now famous suit— had become their own, painted on their equipment, scrawled on walls, pasted onto vehicles; the symbol of rebellion and heads held high even in the darkest hours.

She reached out and put her hand, palm-flat on the wall now decorated with that unreadable face. It was a handsomely detailed painting in spite of the few colours which had been available to the artist, whose very life would have been in danger should their identity be revealed. There was so much passion in the painting, a kind of reverence that bordered on the religious, making its subject appear _angelic_ , beyond human.

It made sense. He had stood alone against an invasion, the stories said, and the Vortigaunts spoke of his return as an eventuality, a guarantee. He was coming back. He was going to do it again, to drive away those who enslaved his kind just as he had done for the Vortigaunts, and make both their races whole again at last. Alyx knew that when that day came, she would be standing by his side. She had known this her whole life; it was as inevitable as his return.

She traced the outline of his face with her hand. She had always believed strongly in the person looking back at her. Eyes as green as the fields that no longer existed, jaw set, this distant expression that she thought of as looking _sad_. As if he were bereaved for the fate of humanity. He always seemed like that to her, in these pictures.

He was both the past and the future. Would he be kind? She imagined him being someone who easily commanded respect. Her father said he didn't talk very much. He must be a man of few words, someone who didn't like to waste time or say things that didn't matter. He must be very thoughtful, maybe sensitive; like the ancient stories of _samurai_.

"Hey, Alyx, you back here?"

"Yeah, Barney, come look what I found!" Alyx called back to the familiar voice which had rung out softly in the relative quiet of evening.

It took only a moment before its owner rounded the corner. His presence was a soothing one to Alyx, reliable and steadfast. He was like a monument to the world that no longer existed, his easygoing nature a testament to human adaptability, while his collection of grey hairs and age-old scars whispered of what he had suffered and endured.

In the Resistance, however, they were equals, standing shoulder to shoulder, and really Alyx saw him as family. It was with a warm smile that she greeted him and beckoned him over to see her discovery.

"Wow, that's pretty impressive," Barney commented as he drew closer, "A darn good likeness, too." He came to a stop close to Alyx, and glanced from the painting down to her with a smile of his own. "Nice find."

Alyx pushed her chest out slightly with pride as if she had painted the mural herself. "Isn't it? It's exactly what I think he looks like. See, he looks kind of sad, but hopeful. Don't you think?"

Barney laughed fondly. "He's not a fairytale, you know."

Alyx rolled her eyes. "I know that," she answered, and gave the painting a pat. "But I mean, if he were here, that's how I imagined he'd look. The expression and all. You understand, don't you?"

This time, Barney nodded, folding his arms and giving the painting a good look as though he were a connoisseur of the arts visiting an old museum. He pursed his lips, leaned a little to one side, gave a _hmm_ , and brought one hand up to tap at his chin.

"Why yes, I would say that is exactly right," he agreed in an affected upper crust accent. "The emotion it invokes, the artist's chosen palette... they really give him a sense of... _serene strength_ in the fact of _abject adversity_."

It was an impression of something that did not exist anymore, and it was exactly the kind of thing which made Alyx laugh, both for the pure absurdity of the thing, and Barney's over-the-top delivery. It was so characteristic of him to find humour in a moment like this, even when it seemed so abstracted, as if he were a remnant of some other time and culture.

Alyx shook her head, still smiling with that fond laughter in her voice. "Well, you know what I mean," she told him. She tapped the painting again; her hand had scant moved from it, as if to be this close to it would be to draw upon Dr. Freeman's essence through time and space.

Barney nodded. "Sure I do. It's nice seein' a picture like this. Makes it feel like he's not so far away."

"What was he like?" Alyx asked, and quickly corrected, "Is he like."

It was a question she had asked of him before, and of her father and Dr. Kleiner as well (Judith and Magnusson tended to volunteer their own opinions, which were never particularly welcome). They were people who had _known_ Dr. Freeman before the Black Mesa Incident, and had seen his courage during those brief, horrific hours firsthand. They had stories to tell about him, and about so many other things pre-War that fascinated Alyx.

In spite of this, or perhaps _because_ of this, Barney had to take a moment to think about his answer, tilting his head a little to one side and pursing his lips as he searched his memory for a good answer to this vast question. Alyx could see the gears working, and his glance turn from the painting to the vague distance, as if he were traveling back in time through his mind.

"Best guy you could ever meet." he concluded, the confidence of his sudden return to the present giving Alyx a slight start. "Big-hearted, down to earth for what a genius he is, and impatient as hell. He got to be like the little brother I never had. But you know, he started out kinda shy. When he first came to Black Mesa, he actually kept to himself, mostly, outside of his work."

"Shy?" Alyx echoed incredulously. She folded her arms, an eyebrow raised. "No way. Really?"

"Really," Barney affirmed with a nod, "He was a lot younger than most of the other scientists, and even though he worked hard, he didn't quite fit in. Took a little bit of coaxing to get 'im out of his shell, you know?" He chuckled.

"Let me guess: you had something to do with that?" Alyx asked, the relaxed smile back on her face and a bit of teasing to her voice.

"Of course!" Barney answered proudly. "Why, I remember the first time I met him, he'd misplaced his ID badge and he was all _kind_ of worked up about it. Didn't want to make a bad impression with the other geniuses, you know. I found it, brought it to 'im and he asked me not to tell anybody he'd lost it." He grinned. "I just told 'im I didn't know what he was talking about. We were buddies ever since."

"Wow, he lost his badge?" Alyx said, shaking her head, "That's just so... _ordinary_. I mean, I don't know what I was expecting, but that's actually pretty funny."

Barney nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, that's all it was. We were working in a pretty cool place, but it was kind of ordinary aside of the crazy experiments they were always up to. I was trained to protect the facility and its equipment and personnel in case some disaster happened, but for the most part it was always pretty routine. Most excitement I tended to get on the job was retrievin' Dr. Kleiner's keys, or rescuing scientists from stuck elevators," he chuckled. "You'd clock in, do your job, clock out again and go home to your... uh. You know." He stopped, looking kind of uncomfortable, as if he'd said too much.

Alyx didn't press him. They both knew the catastrophe was on both their minds now, and that there had been so many losses that day. She didn't know exactly who Barney had lost, other than that it had been a woman. She could guess as to what kind of relationship Barney had had with this woman, but Alyx knew better than to pry, and he never spoke of that unknown casualty of his past. He rarely even let his good humor fade.

"Ordinary" must have been the perfect word to describe Barney's life back then, when he had a different set of people he cared about, a stable job, no idea that things would take such an awful turn.

Yet, even with these fond stories told by those who knew him, though, it was difficult to think of Dr. Freeman himself as being ordinary. She supposed it came from living in the aftermath, in a world where he had already become a legend to be repeated and an example to be followed. There were times when he didn't feel _real_.

This gave rise to a question, which she decided to use to change the topic again, and get Barney's mind back off of that tragedy which had left him with such permanent scars.

"Hey... Barney?" Alyx started hesitantly.

"What's up?"

"Do you think..." she touched the portrait one more time, and looked earnestly at her companion. "Do you think that he can really do all the stuff the Vortigaunts say he's going to?"

Again, Barney did not answer right away. He furrowed his brow slightly, touched his finger to his chin. His expression became as unreadable as Dr. Freeman's, as if he had himself become a painting frozen in time, a still image lost in a moment.

At length, he answered, without any of his characteristic energy or humor, "I do think so. I think that if anybody can do it, it's him."

Alyx was moved by the sober, serious way that he said this. It reinforced her belief and made her feel more secure in it, as if all she'd needed to restore the faith was the agreement of someone else, someone who had insight greater than her own. She felt as though she could breathe again.

"I think so, too," she agreed, although it really wasn't necessary.

Barney nodded, looking a bit distant. In his eyes she saw the same thing she'd catch on rare moments in her father's eyes, too, when he was looking at their family portrait. Longing for a woman who was not with him now.

He moved closer, lifting a hand, and Alyx thought for a moment that he would touch the painting with her, but instead his hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

"C'mon, Alyx," he said, "We better get a move on before neighborhood watch catches us down here."

"Right," Alyx agreed, and allowed him to take her away from the portrait without another word.


End file.
